Son Of The Monkey Man
by Deyinel
Summary: Fourteen years ago: Lord Montgomery Fiske has a vision warning him of a future defeat by a boy named Ron Stoppable. Fiske decides therefore to destroy this future threat. However, something else happens instead... KimRon. R&R!
1. Changing Fate

Son Of The Monkey Man

Disclaimer: Do NOT own Kim Possible, and do not want to. Owning Ron is my dream, but that's not going to happen any time soon.

Okay, I LOVE this idea, but I have to say that there will be K/R romance, but it may not end that way. I don't know if there will be Ron/Yori. There may be, we'll have to wait and see. Heck, there my even be Ron/Shego. So…lots of possibilities. ;)

-----------------------------------------------

"Ron Stoppable…"

A pair of deep black eyes snapped open and Montgomery Fiske, a tall, agile young man, shook himself slightly and rose from the lotus position he had been meditating in.

He ran one large hand through his shaggy, black hair, still unnerved a little from the vision he had witnessed. Never before had he seen anything so clearly; usually, if he saw anything at all during meditation, it was nothing more than a confusing blend of images and sounds. Now, however, the vision had been all too clear.

Hearing a cautious step from behind him, Fiske gathered himself and turned to face his valet.

"Bates," he addressed the short, stout man. "I'm glad you're here. I have had a very disturbing vision." His cultured, British accent became slightly more marked from the agitation overlaying his tone.

"What have you seen, my lord?" the valet enquired respectfully. He was always very respectful of a master who, though undeniably brilliant, might be just a little mad.

"I have received a warning," Fiske elaborated grimly, though not without a slight flourish. His eyes flashed in the firelight. "A warning, Bates, regarding a boy named Ron Stoppable."

"A…boy?" Bates hesitated, surly no child could threaten Montgomery Fliske, master of Tia Shing Pekwar.

"An infant boy," Fiske announced and, seeing his valet's incredulous look, he explained. "At least, he is an infant at the moment. But in fourteen years he will become my arch enemy and prevent my plans from coming to fruition," Fiske intoned darkly, and Bates shivered at his master's grim prediction.

"However, all is not lost," the tall man added, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. But his eyes were sad. "The vision's message is clear enough. I must find Ron Stoppable while he is still helpless. He must be eliminated before he becomes a threat. It is the only way.

"Bates," Fiske snapped suddenly. He clapped his hands together and briskly strode to the large oak door of his meditation chamber. Turning once he had reached it, he fixed the short man with a determined flash of eyes. "We travel to America!"

-----------------------------------------------

It wasn't fair, Monty Fiske reflected glumly, it just wasn't. But then, he thought with a sigh, life was usually unfair.

He looked down again at the bundle of blankets in his arms which were wrapped securely about his future arch nemesis, than turned his gaze once more toward the dark waters of the Thames.

It had all gone so well at first. When he'd found out that the Stoppable family would be traveling to England Fiske had been ecstatic. He had thought he would have to go to America, all the way to that small, insignificant town – Middleton.

That would have been suspicious to say the least, and he would have had to come up with some kind of elaborate cover story, something that would have possibly found out.

But he had not even considered hiring someone to do the job for him as a possibility. Only Bates knew of his future plans, and it was imperative that it stayed that way.

The young lord had already started planning his trip when he'd heard, and he couldn't believe his luck. _No, not luck_, he remembered thinking, _fate_. This was his charge, his mystic quest. And he was not alone; the very universe wanted him to succeed.

And so, two days after the unwitting Stoppable family arrived found Fiske trekking through one of the richer parts of London in search of their hotel.

He was alone. Unsurprising considering that Bates was the only person he could trust, and the valet disliked working in the field, so to speak, and never did so unless absolutely necessary. It didn't matter; Fiske preferred to work alone in any case.

Although now, he reflected, another person's opinion would have been very beneficial.

The hotel they were staying at had been easy to find. He'd only had to explain to the various desk clerks he encountered that he was a business associate of the Stoppables who, unfortunately, had forgotten to give him their address.

It had been even easier to make his actual entry, scaling the side of the hotel with the aid of his climbing hooks, and the ornate and obliging balconies.

The Stoppable family were staying on the fourth floor, not so high that it was problematic for him, but it still took a good twenty minutes before he was crouched silently beside their sliding glass door, the old, cold stones of the balcony rough beneath his splayed hands.

It had rained earlier, and Monty Fiske could feel small bits of thoroughly soaked dirt and grit, coaxed out from their usual haunts in the corners by the downpour, digging into his fingertips like tiny teeth.

Where he stood now, on the bank of the Thames, Fiske could barely pick out the dark bulk of the hotel through the sharp, concrete angles of other skyscrapers and the enshrouding fog, only minimally pierced by the floating globes of city lights.

He had waited outside the apartment for one long minute before he entered, unlatching the simple lock with one wiggle of the length of copper wire he'd brought for the purpose. Once inside he found that one of the two large bedrooms which opened off of the main room had been converted into a make-shift nursery for Ron. _Who takes their three month old baby to England with them? Who _goes _to England on business when they have a baby? _he recalled wondering incredulously. Ah, well, it made things that much easier for him, or so he'd thought at the time.

Ron was sleeping peacefully when Monty Fiske entered his room. He lay in a large crib over against one wall. The small boy stirred slightly as Fiske leant over him, shifting restlessly in his self-made cocoon of blankets, though he remained asleep.

He really was tiny. Fiske had been quite startled by his size. The boy lay in the crib, dwarfed by the piled blankets which enfolded him; he looked perhaps half of his three months. A thick crop of messy blond curls spilled over the large ears and caressed the closed eyelids. He did not wake up, but only shifted again, whimpering a little.

Breathlessly, silently, Fiske had bent over the sleeping boy. He reached into the folds of his coal black gi and withdrew a specially prepared cloth, holding this article to Ron's face until his movements subsided, the drug having deepened his sleep. Once this was accomplished, Fiske had proceeded to lift the infant, blankets and all, and depart the way he had come.

And now here he was, seated by the misty bank of the Thames. All he had to do was to drop Ron into the dark, swirling water. The drug administered to the boy would insure that he would not awaken, and Fiske's enemy would be taken care of.

And he couldn't do it.

Once again, Fiske looked down at the child nestled in his arms. Ron had cuddled up to him in his sleep and one tiny hand rested on the lip of the blanket, almost touching the tall man's chest. It was soft and small and perfect in its newness. It was hardly larger than his thumb, that hand, and too pale. Just as Ron himself was pale, far too much so than he ought to be, it seemed to Fiske.

The young lord felt week, helpless before the softly closed eyes of the boy he held. He wanted to tell himself that Ron was his enemy, and not only that, but a threat to everything Fiske was _working_ toward. But it was not true. Someday Ron would be these things, but now he was only a carefree, sleeping child, completely unaware of the danger he faced, or the destiny man and boy both shared.

_I don't want to kill him._

But what else could he do? Monty Fiske did not believe fate was finite, unchangeable. It could be changed, but _only if you changed it_. If he left Ron alone than the boy would grow up to defeat him, and it wouldn't only be he who suffered from this; it would be the whole world. What was one small boy's life when compared with that?

Oh, it had been easy to think this, easy to decide, back home in his mansion, but how could he do it, now? How could he take this bright mind and make it cold and dark forever, this mind which had only just begun to live?

And so he was left with a question to which he could see no possible answer.

He could not leave Ron with Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable. He could not kill him. What was left?

In frustration he glowered angrily at the river before him, so impassive, so untroubled. He willed an answer to emerge from the dark water like a silver scaled fish. But it did not.

What was he to do? He could not leave Ron at an orphanage. To do so would all but insure that the boy would still be raised with the same basic values and beliefs his parents would have instilled in him, and in that case he was likely to still threaten Fiske when he was grown.

If only there was some way to make absolutely certain Ron would not grow up believing those things. If he only knew the truth, as Fiske did he would not want to fight him, he would want to help…

_But there _is _a way._

Monty Fiske stared at the child in his arms, pure and untouched by the biases of a troubled world. And suddenly, the solution to his problem was right before his eyes.

-----------------------------------------------

Wooo! First chapter! _Fireworks! _Hope you all like the story so far. I can tell you right now that I have the whole story planned out, (just not written, and some details are foggy,) and there will be at least two books, this one and a sequel. I'm also going to tell you right now that there will be a LOT of both Ron and Kim.

Anyhoo, this is my first AU fic, and I've changed a few things, most notably Fiske's goals. You will learn all of them eventually but, well, just bear with me until you do.

So send me a review and tell me what you think. I'll update as fast as I can, but I'm entering the exam period at school, so don't expect any miracles.

Oh, and reviews _do _help me update faster… ;)


	2. Ronald Fiske

Son of the Monkey Man chapter 2

Disclaimer: I refuse to make a joke about the fact that I do not own Kim Possible. It is far too tragic for that.

Wow, so many nice comments! I'm so glad you guys liked the first chapter and hope I won't disappoint as the story progresses. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. You Guys are awesome!

I apologize in advance for any legal or other errors I may have made during this chapter. I love writing for Fiske, but it is also incredibly hard to make him believable and thusly this chapter was really difficult to write. Also I did no research on the procedures taken by orphanages and so may have made a mistake in this regard.

**Note:** This chapter is dedicated to the new and excellent movie "Meet The Robinsons, (mostly because of the orphanage scene), and I recommend that if you haven't yet seen it you do so at once. If you have seen it and liked it then you are awesome. 'Nuff said.

------------------------------------------------

_This is definitely a night for herbal tea_, Mabel thought as she shuffled down the stone flagged hallway toward the kitchen.

The shuffling was not caused by any physical ailment; even though she was approaching her forty-sixth year, Mabel Hendrickson was as spry and agile as the earnest, innocent girl of twenty who had first come to live and work in London.

No, the soft and whispery shuffling, which had been her companion for almost four years now, was caused by an old, faded pair of carpet slippers she had had for close to a decade.

They were patched, those slippers, patched and stained with years of use and love. The rubber souls were coming away from the rest of them and dragged on the ground for a half-second after Mabel lifted her feet and flapped when she set her foot down again. Because of this, she had developed an awkward, dragging stride which produced the soft, shuffling sound everyone in St. Cecilia orphanage recognized with affection.

However, although money was no object since the orphanage had received a very generous donation several years ago, one which had just about saved it from closing, Mabel had flatly refused all suggestions that she get rid of the ratty old things and buy some nice new ones.

The truth was that she just couldn't bring herself to part with them. The slippers were not only comfortable, but constant. When children came, abandoned and lonely, they found a home in her house and in her heart. But, sooner or later parents were found for them and they left in a cloud of joy and petrol exhaust. Mabel was happy for them, of course, but each child she raised or fed or sang to sleep became a part of her, and each one took a part of her with them when they left.

She and her slippers still stayed on, year after year, getting older and shabbier together, but still retaining the warm, comfortable presence every child grew to know and love.

The chill of the night had soaked through the building's new walls in spite of layers of insulation, and Mabel pulled her lilac-patterned housecoat more tightly round her shoulders as she pushed open the kitchen door.

She left the main light off, only flipping on the one over the sink in its small alcove, and was in the process of filling the kettle from the filter jug on the counter when she heard a knocking from the front door.

Mabel hurriedly set the water down and made her way out of the kitchen again and through the stone passage to the door. _Thank goodness he had the sense not to ring the doorbell at least _she reflected. Several of the children currently at the orphanage were restless sleepers, still disturbed by nightmares of past monsters, real or imaginary, and the loud, old fashioned clanging the doorbell produced would undoubtedly have woken someone up.

Glancing at the round, white face of the clock as she passed it on the way to the door Mabel saw that it was later than she'd thought, about half past midnight. She felt a small, sharp pain in her heart, half anger, half anticipation and dull acceptance.

There was only one reason people came to her door this late, and that was to leave a child. Mabel quickened her pace. It had been raining earlier and her soon-to-be charge would catch a chill if left in the damp, clammy air for too long. She pulled back the deadbolt, swung the big door open and was met with an unexpected sight.

The young man before her stood slightly back from the door, just close enough so that he was protected by the porch overhang from the slight drizzle that was still falling. He was draped in a long, black Macintosh which was beaded all over with crystalline drops. He carried a blanket wrapped bundle in one arm held close to his chest. A baby. But he was still here.

Mabel felt uneasy all of a sudden; this was not what she had been expecting. But then the man raised his head, shaking damp black hair from his eyes, and it was as if a single star had come out in the cloudy expanse above her.

"Lord Fiske!" Mabel exclaimed.

"Hello Mabel." Fiske smiled at the startled woman, the flash of his teeth matching the raindrops still glinting on his raincoat. "I'm sorry it's so late, but I'm afraid there's something I must speak with you about." He gestured at the baby almost apologetically. "May I come in?"

"Oh, yes of course" Mabel answered, stepping aside so that Fiske could enter. Once he was inside she held out soft arms and took the child from him. The baby lay quietly in her arms, eyes open behind a light fringe of hair. The child made no sound, only watched her with large brown eyes.

"Where did you find him?" Mabel asked softly, shifting her gaze from the innocent eyes of the child in her arms to those of the young lord.

"In a telephone kiosk." Fiske shrugged out of his raincoat as though shaking off something unpleasant, scattering crystalline drops, and hung it on a peg.

Mabel felt her stomach clench. It was a common enough occurrence; she herself had heard several times of infants left to freeze to death in the snow, or thrown into the river, but even imagining what kind of monster could do something like that to a helpless child made every muscle she possessed tighten in anger.

Her arms tightened involuntarily around the baby she held as though dark forces were reaching out to snatch him back.

But it was Fiske who came toward her. He did not try to take the child from her, instead laying a hand on her arm. He seemed hesitant, almost as though he were waiting for her to say something. She found herself speaking.

"Thank you Lord Fiske, this baby would have been dead if it weren't for you." The truth of her words hit her like a warm shaft of light and she smiled radiantly at Fiske. First he had saved her orphanage, and now the life of this child.

Then the common sense that was such a large part of her took over and she pulled herself together, continuing. "I know it's very late, so I'll just get him settled and fill out the report. You can sign it and be on your way." She smiled at Fiske again, but found him standing with a troubled look on his lean face.

"Mabel, I didn't come here just to give you the baby, I have a…favor to ask." This pronouncement left Mabel floored. Monty Fiske asking for a favor? It seemed almost to defy logic. Monty Fiske was rich; despite the numerous charities he had donated to his wealth was enormous enough to boggle the imagination of many ordinary people, herself included.

Monty Fiske did not have to ask for favors, it seemed in some primal part of her mind as though he _shouldn't_. What could he possibly want from her badly enough that he had to ask for it? And was he…nervous?

"I never had anyone to love and care for, not after my parents died." Fiske spoke very softly as though thinking aloud. "Finding that child tonight I realized…I realized what I need. I need a son to love and to teach. To bring up as my own." He looked at Mabel then, raising his eyes to meet hers. The intensity and raw emotion in them caught and held her like a spell.

"I know there is a waiting list for adopting babies, Mabel" Fiske continued urgently, eyes never leaving hers. "I know the procedures and rules governing orphanages, but tonight this child and I, we connected. I held him and looked into his eyes." Fiske held out his hands, empty, as though remembering the feel and being of the baby he had brought to Mabel's doorstep.

"I can't bear to lose him."

Mabel's head was awhirl with what Fiske had been telling her, but his last sentence snapped her back to reality. No one would be missing this baby; he had been left to die. Why should she have the police conduct a search for what could not be found? If anyone deserved the happiness of parenthood it was Montgomery Fiske after all he had done to help the orphanage. And he was right that the waiting list for babies was quite long. He would never see this child again if she did not do something. Helping Fiske would be the best thing she could do for both him and the child in her arms, the child she was now responsible for.

This thought made Mabel realize fully what Fiske was asking her to do and to her surprise she found that she was not bothered by it. She remembered that old adage 'rules are made to be broken.' She had never agreed with it before, but now she saw what it meant and amended it silently. 'Rules are made to be broken when the cease to do good.'

She smiled at Fiske.

------------------------------------------------

Bates was waiting for him at the door when he returned home. The valet held the door open just long enough for Fiske to step inside, then swiftly closed and locked it as though London's entire police force was close behind.

"No one discovered me, Bates" Fiske told him.

"Of course not, My Lord" Bates agreed respectfully. "I never indicated differently." Fiske smiled. He shifted his stance as he wriggled out of his Macintosh once again. His arms were growing tired from holding Ron and it took him several minutes. Bates came close to Fiske to receive the coat and caught sight of the bundle his master was holding for the first time.

The valet's eyes fastened on the bundle as though drawn by a magnet. He longed to ask about it, ask if that _was _Fiske's arch enemy he holding, but knew that etiquette demanded he not question his lord.

Fiske watched him squirm silently for a moment, then took pity on him and explained. He explained about the thoughts he had had by the river, of how he had figured out that he could raise Ron to see things his way, and finally of his conversation with Mabel and how she had agreed to help him. The explanation took quite a long time, in the course of which Ron woke up from what was probably a nightmare with a wail like a locomotive coming out of a tunnel and had to be soothed back to sleep.

When Fiske had finished his story Bates still looked skeptical. He regarded the sleeping infant with a look that seemed to say 'you've not taken _me _in.' Fiske saw the look and sighed.

"I know you don't agree with me Bates, but you're going to have to trust my judgment. I know what I'm doing."

"Of course, My Lord," the valet assured him. His suspicion of Ron seemed to get less obvious, but did not change.

"Bates," Fiske said sharply. The valet looked up. "You will treat Ronald as you would myself. You will give him all the respect that befits the child of your lord. He _is _my son now." There was a moment of silence as Bates swallowed this and came to terms with it.

"Yes, My Lord."

Fiske nodded once, and then left to retire to his room. Ronald was a good name, he reflected as he walked; regal, sophisticated, almost noble. A powerful name. Ron would be all of these things one day, now that he was here, where he truly belonged. Ronald Fiske - a very good name.

Fiske glanced down at Ron as he slept. The boy had fastened onto the front his black gi with one tiny hand and the golden rings of his hair fell over the tiny face.

"Sleep well, Ronald Fiske" the young lord told him, liking the sound of the boy's new name on his lips. "Sleep well; we have a long hard road ahead of us."

------------------------------------------------

The origin of the name of St. Cecilia orphanage: The story of St. Cecilia tells of her converting a great many people as well as keeping her virginity by being very passive and telling the truth; angels speaking to her, etc. I find naming the orphanage Fiske saved after her rather amusingly ironic, since as you will later see more clearly he is both very active and deceptive. At the same time, however, he is on his own 'holy quest' of a sort and must face adversity just as she did. I am not catholic myself, or religious at all for that matter, but I learned about Cecilia in an English course, and when I started writing this story I liked the idea of the orphanage being named after her. Thoughts?

What do you all think of Mabel? She's the first oc I created so much of a character for and I think she came out pretty well, (sounds kind of like a cake or something now, doesn't she.) Do you think she was overdone? (There it goes again…) Let me know.

Thanks for reading and _please_ feel free and welcome to leave a review. I'll be back as soon as I can with the next chapter in which Kim will finally make an appearance!


	3. A Storm Is Coming

Son Of The Monkey Man chapter 3

Disclaimer: No it's not mine. (No weird disclaimer this time).

Sorry this is late, but here's that chapter I promised you.

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates it, and Happy Holidays if you don't.

And in this chapter we have a time jump forward. But don't worry if you want to find out about everyone's early years. There will be plenty of flashbacks etc. to fill you in.

Thanks to all the reviewers of the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one as well!

* * *

**Twelve Years Later**

* * *

"But Daddy, I don't _want_ to go!" 

"Now Kimmy-cub, we're all going." James Possible laid a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder and gave her his best 'chin up' smile. "The conference is at a beautiful hotel. It has a pool, a gym, even a stable and riding track. Besides," he continued, "it will do you good to get out and socialize. You've been staying inside too much lately."

"I can socialize _here_," Kim implored. "Ashley and Meghan won't be there."

"So you can make some new friends. Most people will bring their children. You might even meet a boy…"

"Daddy…" Kim growled.

"And the Rockwaller girls will be there as well," James said. "What about the youngest daughter, Bonnie? You could make friends with her." Kim scowled and clenched her hands.

"She doesn't like me very much," she muttered. James failed to pick up on his daughter's tone and merely ruffled her hair.

"All the more reason to get a fresh start and show her what a nice girl you are then," he declared heartily. "You're going and that's final, Kimmie-cub. And I promise, you'll have lots of fun."

* * *

"Oh yeah, this is lots of fun," Kim griped to herself, brushing a spiky leaf out of her face and wincing as it pricked her fingers. Crouching in the bushes which edged the hotel's large, outdoor pool, she could hear her pursuers' footsteps falter as they stopped and looked around for her uncertainly. 

"We know you're here, loser," Bonnie Rockwaller called out in a mocking, sing-song voice.

Less than a day here, and already she was miserable. Kim lamented all conferences and the implications they had. Just because her parents were geniuses they had been called to the stupid thing, which was trying to find cost-effective ways to help the environment.

They were in the conference room right now talking about 'green water,' or some such nonsense. As far as Kim could tell, the environment was doing fine without help, but this opinion was not shared by most of the adults who'd been called here.

Out by the pool, Kim could here her tormentors; Bonnie's commanding voice telling them where to search. She stayed still. From past experience, she knew that if they hadn't found her in about five minutes most of them would get board and wonder off. Then she would be safe for another day.

However, just as she was thinking this a hand descended into her haven, brushing aside the leaves which masked her, and she heard a triumphant shout.

"Over here, I've got her!"

Kim was dragged out into the open by a strong arm. She pulled away and backed up, only to see all six girls closing in on her.

"Why do you pick on my like this?" she demanded of Bonnie. "I never did anything to you!"

"That's a good question," someone said. The eyes of Kim and her assailants turned to see a strange boy push his way out of another set of bushes. He was about Kim's age, had messy blond hair which sported several twigs, and was dressed in a pair of loose black cotton pants and a long-sleeved shirt of the same material. A relaxed smile graced his wide mouth, but his dark brown eyes were icy cold.

Now he saw that he had everyone's attention, the boy continued speaking. "Is it, A: because you were not socialized properly as a child and so your ID is too strong, B: because you are picked on by others yourself and do this to take out your frustrations, C: because you have an inferiority complex and beat up on others to feel superior, or…" he paused and considered Bonnie's furious face. "D: all of the above?" His voice, Kim noticed distractedly, carried a smooth, cultured British accent which rolled easily off his tongue as he spoke. There was a moment of silence following the boy's declaration.

"What's an ID?" a girl at the back whispered to her companion, who shrugged.

Then Bonnie exploded.

"Okay, loser!" she snarled. "I don't know who you think you are, but you'd better leave now if you know what's good for you! You may be a boy, but there are five of us and only one of you." She jerked a thumb at Kim over her shoulder. "This loser doesn't count."

"Bravo!" the boy exclaimed, for all the world in real admiration. "You can do basic arithmetic. Although your vocabulary leaves something to be desired. But you've made a mistake." He came dangerously close to Bonnie, as far as Kim could see, and whispered something in her ear. Then he backed up. "So you guys should go and play nicely somewhere else. We're not worth getting beaten up over."

Bonnie glared at him for a moment, then flipped her hair and turned away. The six of them headed off in the direction of the volleyball courts, grumbling to each other.

Kim stood and looked at the boy as he sat down cross-legged on the ground and began attempting to get the twigs out of his hair.

"Darn it," he muttered under his breath. Kim could barely catch what he was saying. "Father bet I couldn't go one day without messing up my hair and I really wanted to prove him wrong."

"Who _is_ your father?" Kim asked, coming close and sitting down next to him. "Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry," he apologized, and held out a hand. "Ronald Fisk. My father's…"

"I know who your father is!" Kim exclaimed excitedly. This was the adoptive son of Montgomery Fisk, the renowned archaeologist and environmental activist? She'd expected him to be more…posh, she supposed, although the accent was right. But, remembering how confident and in control he had been when facing down Bonnie's gang, she couldn't but admire him, twigs in his hair or not. She held out a hand.

"My name's Kim Possible." Ron smiled a little.

"Really? That's your name?" Kim felt a little nervous. Some of the kids at school teased her about her name, mostly Bonnie and the others. It had left her feeling rather sensitive about it. But Ron had seemed so nice. He wouldn't laugh at her, would he?

"Now _that _is an awesome name," Ron said. "So, anything is possible for you?"

"Well, that's what dad says." Kim was embarrassed; _she_ had certainly never thought of it that way. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Of course." The boy stretched his arms behind his head in an exaggerated fashion, and lay comfortably down on the tile next to her.

"What did you say to Bonnie to make her back off? I thought they were going to beat you up to."

"Oh, that." Ronald looked uncomfortable. "I can't really tell you. It's…private between me and her."

"What…do you mean, private?"

"It's just…something I grew up with," Ronald said softly. "Look, I told her something about herself, and who she is." He was struggling to make her understand. "She, Bonnie? She backed off because she knew I was right, and because of how it made her feel. But to tell someone else? That's wrong, I'm sorry, Kim."

"That's okay." Kim was feeling mystified but did her best not to show it. Something about who Bonnie was? What did that even mean?

"Besides," Ronald said in a more jovial voice, "even if I couldn't subdue them that way, I wasn't worried. I'm an adept martial artist."

"Really?" That peeked Kim's interest for more than one reason. "I know a bit myself, but I'm not very good. It's kind of a hobby."

Ronald was on his feet in an instant. "Why didn't you say so?" he exclaimed, delighted. "I could use someone to spar with."

"Oh, I don't know about that…"

"Please." He took her hand and pleaded playfully, deep brown eyes locked onto hers. "It will be fun. I'm sure that your style is a different one from mine. I've never sparred with anyone who knew a different style before, and maybe I can help you a little as well."

"We-ell…" _Come on, possible!_ Kim demanded of herself. _While you're here, and he's here you might at least _try _to make friends._ "Okay," she sighed. "I'll do it." Ronald's smile widened until it seemed to light up his whole face. His nose, Kim noticed suddenly, that he had a light sprinkling of freckles, which stood out when he smiled. She smiled back, still shy, but hopeful. "One more thing," she said suddenly with a flash of boldness. "Ronald's a nice name, but it's a little too regal for me, could I just call you Ron?"

"I don't see why not." Ron shook himself, loosening his mussels. Now, you ready Kim? We should first go over what you know. Get into a fighting stance; I'm going to test your defenses."

Above the two circling figures, the sky was slowly growing darker, dark gray clouds rolling in to cover the sun in the wake of a cold wind.

* * *

Montgomery Fiske stood before the front window of his suit and watched the storm clouds gathering. A few drops of rain spattered against the window as the lord watched, swiftly followed by many others. Fiske sighed, a long, exhausted exhalation, and raised one hand, gently massaging his pounding temples. Why had he been expecting any help from people such as these? These were some of the planet's foremost scientists and activists, and _this_ was the place that they had chosen for the conference. This epitome of waste and decadence. What did that alone tell him? 

He turned as he heard the whisper of the paneled oak door opening and smiled as he saw his son.

"Ah, Ronald, did you come in because of the rain?"

"Sort of." The twelve year old slumped down into one of the heavily padded armchairs which stood in front of the fire like cloth covered clouds. He shifted around uncomfortably for a moment, then shifted his legs under himself so that he could sit cross-legged. "I was sparring, and the rain put an end to that, so that's partly the reason, but there's so much pesticide on the grass by the pool that it was getting unpleasant to breath out there anyway."

"You were sparring?" Fiske crossed to the sink and drew himself a glass of cool, chemical-tasting water from the filter tap. "Who with?"

"A girl I met." Ronald smiled slightly at the thought of the nervous red-head. There was something about her…

"Ronald." He turned to see his father looking critically at him, an almost concerned expression on his face. "You _do_ know who she is."

"Yes," Ronald said seriously. "I know she isn't one of us, father. I didn't tell her anything, but I can still enjoy talking to her. She's still a person."

"Yes, of course." Fiske seemed more relaxed now, more like his usual self. "She is a person, they are all people, but they are ignorant, and that makes them our enemy. You cannot forget that we are alone in this, no matter how nice they are. Ronald, look at the storm." Father and son crossed silently to the plate glass window together and stood, watching.

The raindrops were falling so heavily now that they had become one, thick curtain, behind which the thick black clouds blotted out the sun and its light, so that the darkness of the storm was only broken by the intermittent flashes of lightning and their rumbling shadows of thunder.

"Aren't storms miraculous things, Ronald." The boy smiled as his father's voice softened in his wonder at the natural world. "So much raw power, it is almost frightening, even when watched from indoors. And when this storm has finished and dissipated what will it leave? The world will be fresh and clean; renewed."

Ronald leant against his father, the lord wrapped an arm around his thin shoulder, and together they watched the jagged forks and whirling rain, while the wind moaned around the hotel as though defying it in all its superiority.

A storm was coming, bigger than anything the world had seen for a long time. It was coming to renew a tired, dirty, wounded world and leave it fresh and clean again. A storm was coming, and it was them.

* * *

This chapter nearly drove me insane. I had a very hard time trying to write for Kim and Ron, knowing how much to change because of their different lives and what to keep the same. Ron sounds more cultured, learned, etc. This is because his intelligence, which he always had, was nurtured by Fiske. (Remember, this is a boy who had perfect and advanced speech, and knew what opposable toes were at age four). 

Kim is less confident because she has allowed herself to be picked on since pre-k. She does have friends, and her martial arts, but is severely lacking in self confidence. Let's see if she works on that, shall we?

And yes, this story will have a powerful environmental message, because it is something which is pressing and important to me. I will be careful not to let it overpower the story, however.

Remember, any questions, comments, concerns or complaints can be addressed to me and I will answer them. (I also accept compliments). And don't forget this story when you're voting in the Fannie Awards this year! ;)

And even if you have nothing like that, please review. It lets me know whether you enjoyed the chapter.

See you all next time!


	4. Some Things Change, Some Stay The Same

SOTMM chap 4

Disclaimer: There is an alternate universe somewhere where I own Kim Possible. But it is not this universe.

Chapter four here for all the long-suffering fans. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and yelled at me about update times, I know I deserve it. ;) Now here is the chapter. Please enjoy. And if you feel like reviewing, I won't say no…

Sigh, yes, another time jump. Last one, I promise you.

* * *

**Five Years On**

It was a perfect, cloudless morning in late spring. The bright, early sun glittered through the crisp fall air and down onto the roofs of the peaceful town of Middleton.

"Kimmie! You're going to be late for school!"

"Coming mom!" Kim sang out from her attic bedroom. She grabbed her backpack from where it lay beside her bed and ran lightly downstairs and into the kitchen where her mother was waiting. Anne Possible smiled when her oldest child practically skipped through the door.

"And just why are you so exuberant this morning?" she enquired as she set a plate of eggs and toast before her daughter. "Another letter from Ronald?"

"E-mail mom," Kim corrected. "But yeah." She smiled at the forkful of eggs in her hand and then popped them into her mouth.

"Well far be it for me to dampen your good mood," Anne said. "But don't forget that you have cheer practice after school today. Your squad captain called to remind you."

"I hadn't forgotten." Kim finished the first slice of toast and reached for a second. Why did Bonnie always have to act as though Kim was a five-year-old? But she knew their captain was a control freak, and she probably still had some left over animosity for her from before Kim had become one of the more popular girls at Middleton High. At least they didn't fight any more, and Bonnie was fairly pleasant as long as she was deferred to, so it wasn't as though cheer practice was unpleasant or anything.

"So what did he have to say then," Anne asked innocently, breaking into Kim's thoughts.

"Oh, nothing…much." Kim ducked her head, knowing she must be turning as scarlet as her ponytail.

"Oh no you don't." Anne bent over to retrieve her daughter's empty plate and gave her ponytail a playful tug as she stood back up. "You look as if someone had just invented a cure for cancer. You are not getting away with 'nothing much.'"

"I like hearing from him is all," Kim said with as much dignity as she could muster. "You know his dad limits his computer time. I can only talk to him every couple of days." She stood up abruptly and made good her retreat, calling out "Bye mom. I'll be late if I don't hurry."

Anne watched her daughter disappear through the front door and shook her head as she finished rinsing the breakfast dishes. It wasn't that she didn't _approve_ of Lord Fiske's son exactly. It was just that he was all the way in England and was never even allowed to come for a visit. She wanted Kimmie to meet someone _here_, someone she could get to know, and who was dependable. Then, too, the Fiskes were incredibly wealthy, and famous archaeologists. The press had a field day whenever they discovered another ancient ruin or primitive skeleton. She couldn't say why, but it worried her. There seemed like a lot of ways Kim could be hurt in this situation as it stood.

When it all came down to it, Anne Possible was much more comfortable with her daughter being a trainee for that dangerous institution, Global Justice. Why were gunfire and super villains less worrisome than Ronald Fisk?

Sighing, she slipped on her lab coat and departed after setting the dishes in the washer. There was no use in telling any of this to Kim, she could only hope it would pass when something serious would start happening with her and a local boy, although she was seventeen already; it really should happen soon.

* * *

Of course there wasn't anything inappropriate in the e-mail, which really was more of a letter, no matter what she had said to her mother. Since Ron was only allowed to write every few days he usually composed very long correspondences which described not only all of his doings, but also what he and his father were planning to study next, descriptions and reviews of books he was reading, or just examinations of any interesting news stories he'd seen.

He also sent pictures of himself, his house, or anything else he thought she might find interesting. Any number of reporters would have killed for that kind of information about the private and exclusive Fiskes, and it never failed to please Kim that she was the recipient of all of this information.

She responded in kind, although she could never match his storytelling skills and flawless grammar. But it didn't bother her. Few things about him did.

It had been this way ever since that conference her parents had forced her to go to when she was twelve. After meeting Ron by the pool that day, she and he had spent every day of the two weeks together. They had sparred, talked, swum, played and eaten together, and every second spent together only made it more certain in her mind that he was the best thing she had ever encountered.

He wasn't perfect. He was untidy, and his eating habits, when he was not consciously trying to be elegant, were atrocious. But she wouldn't have wanted him to be perfect; she certainly wasn't. He was a wonderful, funny person who really cared about her. And that was enough.

She really didn't know how she was going to cope at the end of the conference when she traveled back to Middleton, and he to far off England. It was so far, so very distant, she felt as though she wanted to grab onto him and hold him whenever she thought of it. She had never felt this way about anyone before, but she knew that she couldn't cope if she was never to see him again.

She had spoken to him about it, eventually, and she found that he felt the same way. They both talked together and decided, with all the determination of children, that they would not allow the distance between them to break them apart. It happened that both of their families had very advanced computers, which were just beginning to become easy to acquire and use, and which were essential to the work their parents did. Together they vowed to talk at least once a week via the internet, and to keep each other abreast of everything that went on in their respective lives.

The last day of the conference was the last time she had seen him face to face. He had hugged her, impulsively and clumsily, and bumped his nose into her cheek. It was really one of the only times she had ever seen him clumsy or at a loss, and it was surprisingly endearing for all of that. The memory never failed to bring a smile to her lips.

Her father had taken a few photos of the two of them, and she had snatched several of them and put them up in her room. They were still there.

By rights their friendship should have withered after a year. They wrote to each other as they had said they would. They sent a few pictures, although this was much more difficult to do back then. They even had a couple of phone calls, although these always had to be rushed because of the insane cost. But this shouldn't really have been enough. Especially since Ron's father, and her own parents to some extent, seemed to be trying to discourage them from continuing their friendship. They had not seen each other for five long years.

But somehow, it had worked notwithstanding.

And even her parents had had to concede that he was a good influence on her. Before she met him, talked to him, _knew_ him, Kim had always been content to stay in the background. She had never been able to venture to try all of the things she longed to do.

But now…

She thought over the day before her. First, school. She was doing well in her courses. She had always gotten good grades, but it was so much more enjoyable now. She thrilled at the challenges the assignments created, and loved the instances when she had to present in front of the class. She had an elective course this year, Photography with Bonnie and Tara, and they were doing a project on fashion. There would be lunch, sitting with her friends at the coveted senior's table. Then, as her captain had so 'thoughtfully' reminded her, there was cheerleading practice. Bonnie certainly could be frustrating at times, but that didn't mean she wasn't fun to hang out with. Practice ended at five, and she had just enough time to grab some supper at home before she reported to GJ Middleton branch for training at six.

A busy day to be sure, but she had discovered that she liked busy days. Her mother and father had been a little startled and uneasy about her decision to apply to Global Justice, but Kim knew it was the right place for her. The things they did, they helped people, and that was what she wanted to do. And, thanks to all the time and effort she had put into her studies and martial arts, she had been accepted, and would continue with her training after she graduated at the end of the year.

Just one more month.

She was the one who had worked all these changes in her life, but they were also thanks to Ron, and the way she felt and thought when he was with her.

Today's letter from him had been the same as the others. It was interesting and fun to read, but certainly not enough to cause such a completely euphoric mood as her mother had undoubtedly noticed at breakfast. Except for the lovely little paragraph near the end.

_Father is going on a very important expedition this summer_, Ron had written, _And he has decided to leave me here and give me a chance to look after his businesses while he is gone. He says it will be good experience for me, since I am already seventeen and will be coming of age in September. But he has also decided that I will be lonely with only the servants, and I was able to convince him to invite you over for the month of July, if your parents agree, of course. Please, please let me know if you can come Kim, I can hardly wait to see you again._

_I will be waiting for your reply._

_Yours,_

_**Ronald Fiske**_

Kim sighed again at the remembrance and hugged her backpack straps closer to her.

She hadn't shown the letter to her parents this morning because she knew that they would be difficult to convince, particularly since she'd never even been out of the country before, although after the summer she was to begin going on training flights with the trained GJ agents.

She needed time to come up with some really good arguments to convince them that this trip would be good for her, nay, essential. She would spring it on them tonight. She wondered if she should try to get the support of her brothers first, but rejected the idea. Geniuses they might be, but they couldn't keep a secret to save their lives.

* * *

Kim ducked under he opponent's guard and felt her foot thump satisfyingly into his chest. He fell back with an 'oomph' of surprise and pain. He paused for a second, and then rose, and began to advance once more.

"That's enough! Bow please."

At the trainer's voice, Kim and her opponent relaxed their stances and bowed to each other. They were both hot, sweaty and sore after the grueling workout, but they knew better than to run off to the soothing warmth of the showers in the next room. Instead they lined up, side by side, to await inspection. Around them in the immense room, trainees fought, exercised, or stretched. The room was filled with the thump of flesh striking flesh, or the whumping of bodies onto floor mats, and the very air felt charged with adrenalin.

"Well done, both of you," Agent Cromwell said. He stalked across the rough mat and stopped in front of the two trainees. "Derek, your blocking has improved a great deal. And Kim, you're getting much more aggressive, particularly that last little bit and the final kick. That was an impressive feint."

"Thank you, agent." Kim could feel her face reddening, and kept her eyes on the floor, self-consciously. "I've been practicing my attacks with Agent Anderson."

"Excellent," the trainer nodded. "Well you're both doing very well. Go on and get showers now, you look like a pair of melting ice cream cones. Trainees dismissed." Kim and Derek headed gratefully out toward the changing rooms.

"Thank goodness for that," Derek murmured, not loud enough to disturb the other trainees who were still working. "I _feel_ like a melting ice cream cone. Nice kick by the way," he continued as Kim groaned in agreement. "My ribs are still wondering if they're in the right place."

"Oh, sorry about that," Kim apologized, but mildly. She knew Derek, and knew he wasn't serious. They had sort of become unofficial sparring partners and he was a nice guy, although she sometimes felt uncomfortable around him for some reason.

"Don't worry about it. I like it when a girl can 'knock me off my feet,'" and he winked at her. Kim was suddenly very uncomfortable. Was he…flirting with her? She would like to believe he was just kidding, but there was something in his voice she had never heard before, something like damp silk and cream.

It wasn't that she hadn't had boys flirting with her before; she had even gone out one a few dates. But her perspective boyfriends had never lasted long, and this was, generally, because they were not Ron. When all was said and done, she would much rather spend time with Ron than with any of them, even if that time was in writing to him, or talking over the phone for a carefully calculated five minutes.

And Derek wasn't even someone she was attracted to. He was good looking, fun and witty, but there was something about him she could not put her finger on that just was not _right_.

She chuckled a little and waived her hand, dismissively, opting to appear oblivious. They were at the entrance to the changing rooms now, and she couldn't help feeling extremely relieved that a forced parting was now inevitable.

"I've got to get my shower and get home," she told him, and disappeared into the 'ladies' side, calling "I'll see you Wednesday!"

"Goodbye," Derek responded, and Kim thought he sounded disappointed. It disturbed her, but she put him out of her mind. She had not completely worked out how she could convince her parents to let her visit Ron for a whole month, and she had to concentrate.

The Derek thing would work out. It was not worth worrying about.

* * *

That's all for now, folks. I hope everything was believable and in character. And once again, there will be many more allusions and flashbacks to Ron's early life, and probably to Kim's as well.

Yes, Kim runs with the popular crowd. She is a cheerleader, and still doesn't mind deferring, even to someone like Bonnie. I didn't originally plan to have them as friends, but I kind of like it. What do you think? Completely out of the realm of the possible?

I also hope people aren't discouraged by all the lack of action in this story, and I want to assure you that this will change, and the later chapters will have much more in them. It's just that because of the story and all the changes to the characters, I feel I have to have character development and such. So take heart!

Next chapter has Ronald and Monty in it. And yes, the rest of your questions will be answered. ;)

Ta for now!


	5. Different Lives

SOTMM chap 5

Disclaimer: No, the show Kim Possible is not mine. Why…is it for sale?

Well, here's chapter five, in which all the fans of Monty and Ron will finally be appeased…I hope.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. You really helped me to write this chapter. I'm glad some people think Derek is interesting. He merits keeping an eye on, certainly. ;)

I am very sorry that this chapter is so late. School plus work, plus volunteering, plus work equals no time! I will contrive to update my other stories more quickly, however.

Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Dedicated to families.

* * *

Kim walked apprehensively through the front door. She set her bag quietly on the light blue linoleum next to the shoe mat and closed the door as softly as she could. Now that it came to the crunch, she really had no idea how she could convince her parents to agree to the trip, and yet she _had_ to convince them.

She had to see him again.

She stopped at the door to the kitchen as though a wall had sprung up in front of her. Inside she could hear soft voices and the clink of cups. Why did her father have to come home early today of all days? Okay, so it was only about fifteen minutes early, but still. She knew he would be the hardest to convince because, according to him, Ron was a _boy_.

She really needed more time to prepare for this, although she wasn't really certain it would do any good. But now that she was here… Kim knew that if she didn't go in there and talk to them this minute, she would loose her nerve. Besides, they were already sitting down, and likely in a decent mood. She didn't have GJ training today, but her parents generally did most of their work after supper. This was probably the best opportunity she would get to talk to them tonight.

With a soft sigh, Kim placed her hand on the paneled oak door and, after only a moment's hesitation, pushed it open.

"Hi sweetie," James Possible greeted her from his seat at the large table. He was scanning a thick newspaper, with one eye on a cooling cup of coffee which sat before him. "Did you have a nice day? How was Cheer practice?" he asked.

"Great," Kim said, cautiously casual. She smiled at him, and then at her mother, who was leaning against the polished counter and examining some documents in a manila folder. The kitchen was bathed in late sunlight, and the most delicious smells of vegetables and cooking beef were wafting from the pot which bubbled softly on the stovetop.

Kim took a deep breath. "Mom, dad," she said. "I need to talk to you about something.

"Well certainly Kimmie," Anne said, coming over to stand next to her husband. She closed her folder and placed it on the table. James also put his paper aside and gave Kim his full attention. "What is it?" Anne asked.

"Well, It's about Ron," Kim started, crossing her arms over her chest so that they wouldn't betray her by fidgeting. "You remember this morning when you asked me why I was so happy?" she asked her mother.

"Yes," Anne answered, raising an eyebrow.

"It was because he sent me an e-mail," Kim continued. "A very specific e-mail, I mean." She wasn't really looking at either of them now. All her attention was on talking coherently. "He asked me…I mean, his father is going away this summer for a while on an archeology trip and he, I mean Ron, asked if I could come up and stay at his house while Lord Fiske is away, to keep him company." She finished breathlessly and her gaze found the faces of her parents. Her mother looked surprised, though thoughtful, but her father…

"Absolutly not!" James said. He was going into full father mode, Kim could tell, and his eyebrows seemed to bunch themselves together over his darkening eyes. "Why, this boy, this _boy_ wants you to go away, to _England_ no less, and stay there with him while his father is _away_! Kim, you haven't seen him in six _years_…"

"_Five_ years," Kim protested, but her father ignored the interruption and continued.

"You are certainly not going to _stay_ with him Kim," he finished.

"Now, wait just a minute James," Anne said with her eyes on her daughter. She brushed a bit of her short, red hair behind her ear thoughtfully. "I think we need to talk about this alone," she said slowly. She glanced at her excited husband. "Not now, after supper," she decided.

"But Anne…"

"_Mom_…"

"No." Anne was firm. "I'm making a lovely supe, and it will be ready in twenty minutes. We are going to calm down," with a glance at her husband, "and eat. Then," to Kim, "we will talk." She bent slightly, and kissed her daughter on her fiery hair. "Would you go and get your brothers?" she asked gently. "It's their turn to set the table."

"Sure mom." Kim tried to keep the worry out of her voice.

"Good," Anne said. "And James, why don't you get a start on those reports you need to do?"

"Alright." James rose discontentedly. "But we _will_ talk after supper."

Anne nodded, then crossed to the stove and began to stir the supe. The late sun slipped in through the window and light curtains, and seemed to gild her as she bent to smell the contents of the large, black pot.

Kim watched for a moment, and then left the room. _At least she's going to talk about it_, she thought. Maybe things weren't as hopeless as they looked. Maybe it would look better on a full stomach.

* * *

Monty Fiske was worried. He had not been this worried in years, he felt certain. He gripped the cast iron railing more tightly, and closed his eyes to feel the wind teasing through his hair. He tried to forget his anxieties, but they persisted. It was this girl, this Kim Possible, this…femme fatalle. He could not understand how she could have this lasting, overwhelming effect on Ronald.

Fisk looked out across the grounds to where his son was circling through the north pastures on Mystery. They were nearing a jump and Ronald was stretched out low over the mare's dark back, her mane flicking over his face, shadowy against the sunshine of his hair. He was dressed in black riding cloths trimmed with red and these in addition to the ebony luster of Mystery's coat made his hair appear to glow with golden fire. His body shifted as the muscles of her strong legs rippled. They made the jump in a swelling sweep of horse and rider and pulled up into a trot. As always, Fisk felt that growing glow of pride deep in his chest as he watched. Ronald had become such a fine young man, one any father could be proud of.

On that first night when he brought the fragile bundle home he had only the ardent belief that he could not kill a helpless infant. He had thought that perhaps Ronald would be his son and that he could raise and instruct him, but never, never ever did it cross his mind how he would come to care for this boy. He never imagined that he would love Ron with such passion, that his son would come before everything, before himself. _Perhaps_, a voice deep inside him whispered, _perhaps even before your mission_. Fisk didn't want to admit it, but somewhere deep within he knew that if it were a question of Ronald's life or the mission they were both engaged upon…

His son would come first. Always.

But that wasn't what was worrying at him like a pack of wild dogs. It was that _girl_. Kim Possible. Before Ronald had met her there had just been the two of them, and neither had wanted it to be any other way, Fisk was certain of it. Then _she_ had come along, and for the first time there was someone else in Ronald's life, someone who wasn't him. Yes, Fisk knew he was jealous; jealous of this inferior, common girl, and the affection Ronald's large heart bestowed on her so generously.

He had known she was trouble years ago when Ronald had first mentioned her, but at that time it had not worried him unduly. For one thing, he knew they would be separating at the end of the conference. Their 'friendship' would undoubtedly fall apart and things would go back to the way they were. But of course, this hadn't happened, and Fisk had discovered an unpleasant side effect as the years rolled on and Ronald changed from a boy to a graceful young man. There were things Ronald told to Kim, jokes they shared, stories they invented together, cheerful conversations, and Fisk was not part of any of it.

So yes, he was jealous.

Kim did not deserve Ronald's attention.

He had truly meant to break it off after a year, but he could not. And this was because, as always, Ronald came first. For some unfathomable reason, this girl was important to his son. Fisk would be sitting on the balcony or in the kitchen at breakfast and notice a difference in Ronald the moment he appeared. There was a glow around him as though sunlight wove itself through his hair and melted in his laughing eyes. Fisk could always tell when Ronald had been speaking to his friend, and the pure happiness in his son's face was painful, because this joy was not caused by him, as it should be. But at the same time Fisk could not bring himself to end the friendship and see that glow fade forever. Ronald did not care for Kim to the exclusion of himself. They were still the best of friends and comrades. He loved Ronald passionately and knew that his son also loved him. And he knew that with him, too, Ronald could be perfectly happy. But his feelings for Kim were so strong.

Fisk sighed with the grace of a Shakespearean tragic hero and looked once more out at his sloping pastures, and the sweep of woods which lay beyond. Ronald had dismounted now, and was leading Mystery back through the verdant pastures towards the stables, not by her bridal, but with one gentle hand resting on her sloping, velvet neck.

In the end, he was probably worrying too much. Probably no danger would come from this distant friendship, so long as they never again met face to face. Fisk should not let it bother him. He would ensure that they 'loved from afar,' and her influence would never harm his son. He would make sure of it.

* * *

Inside the stable, Ronald patted Mystery's glossy neck, and the horse whickered softly and started nosing about his loose top in search of any carrot pieces which might still be hiding there. Ronald chuckled and fended off the enquiring muzzle.

"Easy girl," he told her. "You want to keep that stunning figure, don't you?"

"Master Ronald?"

"In here, Bates!" The young man turned after giving Mystery one final caress, and headed toward the entrance of the barn where the valet was waiting for him.

"Your father wishes to see you, young master," Bates greeted Ronald as he emerged from the cool shadows of the barn.

"I've told you before Bates," Ronald replied. "You _can_ just call me by my name."

"Of course young master," Bates said, but he smiled slightly. Ronald shook his head good-naturedly and headed for the mansion, running with long, easy strides. Bates watched him go and the smile grew to one filled with warmth. This bright, cloudless afternoon felt a long way from the stormy night seventeen years ago.

Initially, Bates had been appalled at what his master had done. It was not that he believed that it was right to kill helpless infants, but he cared first and foremost for his master's safety. For five generations his family had served the Fiskes with total devotion and Bates could not imagine a more honorable position. No matter what his master decided to do, Bates would support him implicitly. But this child! This child worried him. The child was an unknown. It was a connection between his lord and the crime. It was what he had committed the crime for and it worried Bates immensely because it was still there, still tying him to the crime.

And it was true, too, that Bates had at first been…_uncertain_ about the nature of the child itself. He wasn't sure why exactly, but anyone who was supposed to end up as his lord's arch enemy had to have a bad streak in them somewhere. It wasn't that he'd wanted his master to kill the baby, but he didn't quite trust the thing under this roof.

So he had initially been worried.

But his master had become so _happy_. At first, naturally enough, he had not known how to care for the child at all. Fisk had been an only child and had never taken an interest in learning _that_ kind of knowledge, but he was now almost eager to learn. Bates smiled inwardly, remembering that first, sleepless night, then the frantic search for a wet-nurse, (bottle-feeding was out of the question), as well as all the other challenges Fiske had overcome in the interests of his adopted son.

And Ronald really was a sweet child. He was affectionate, intelligent and eager to learn. And once Bates could get past his own prejudice and worries and recognize what Ronald was really like, he discovered that he was falling a little in love with the child himself. It was also incredibly warming to see the father and son together. Even when Fiske was immersed in his work, Ronald, even as a toddler, could get the man to take an hour or two to read to him or play, or just to sit with him before the roaring fire and find pictures and stories in the flames. The sight of the two of them sitting there, Ronald's flaxen head resting against his father's burgundy dressing gown, Fiske's smooth voice rolling through the air like smoke as he spun his stories; that sight would never be forgotten as long as Bates lived.

The boy was _good_ for Fiske. Before he had come, Bates had seen the signs, even if he hadn't regarded them. His master had no one, nothing to care about except his mission and it showed. He was still a very young man, and yet he was completely consumed by it. He worked late, he worried, and he got little or no pleasure out of life. But Ronald, Ronald was someone Fiske could care for, could give himself to completely, and he did. The mission was still there, still important, but now it was a _shared_ goal, between father and son, and more than that. Bates had finally realized that Fiske now had another reason to save the world.

He had a child who lived there.

Bates wandered out from the shadowy stable and its sweet smell of timothy, and slowly walked over to the cedar grove beside the pasture. He inhaled their scent slowly and gazed at the sunlight slanting through the greenery overhead. But his thoughts were far away and long ago.

* * *

Ronald opened the back door and walked into the cool shadow of the broad hallway. He blinked a couple of times, allowing his eyes to adjust after the sunlight outside, and bent to remove his riding boots.

"Father?" he called. He heard no answer, but that merely meant that his father wasn't close by. The house was very large after all, really more of a conservative mansion than a house. Before he could begin to wish that he had thought to ask Bates just where his father was waiting to speak to him, Ronald heard that familiar, dignified voice, and looked up to see his father descending the large, central staircase. He was dressed in a dark green jacket and black pants and had obviously come down in order to meet his son. His eyes were clear and bright.

"Ronald," Fiske greeted, smiling. "I hope I didn't disturb you, son."

"No, not at all. I was just putting Mystery away." Ronald smiled back and walked over to join his father at the foot of the dark, polished stairs.

"Good," Fiske said briskly. "I wanted to start going over some of the affairs you will be handling this summer while I'm away. Must give you something to do while you're here alone, hmm?"

"Oh, sure," Ronald answered. He turned, and then father and son walked up the stairs. Together.

* * *

That's it for chapter five. More details next chapter. We will see some stuff from Fisk's point of view, and some from Ronald's and probably the holes in people's pasts will be filled. I may take some more time talking about these challenges in Ronald's childhood, and probably more into his and Fiske's relationship. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and will be back to read the next one. Coughreviewpleasechough.

Thanks for reading!


End file.
